What do you do when you can't think of a line,
When you've got nothing to be and you've run out of time,
When all through your past you'd thought it'd be great,
And now that you're here you are running quite late,
When you've started walking and walking some more,
Only to realize there's nothing to be walking for?

Whatever happened to you're friend in third-grade?
When you suddenly realize that he's getting “laid,”
Was this the person you followed so dearly,
Through the pain and the heartache and the teacher's eyes, clearly
You're the one who has changed; He's one and the same,
You've ruined this game and you must take the blame,

But just then you realize the hell of which this schema came,
That you didn't want life to ebb from this vein,
That you'd wanted your life to be something better
And you start looking past this slight stormy weather.

And then the bow breaks and you fall to the sea.
And no, you can't swim, and no, you're not me.